“I won’t have anything to do with it!” he promised. “Don’t hit me, Van Horn!” He fell back, and Dirk, unmindful, trotted down to the dock, leaving the despised Blum far in the rear.
That afternoon the promised game with the councilors kept the Lenape team on the jump to defend their positions against prime competition. With Lieutenant Eames on the mound for the leaders, and Chief himself, in mask and chest-protector, behind the plate, the camper squad were hard put to it to score. However, Soapy Mullins got home on a two-bagger made by Lefty Reardon, and in the fifth inning, which was by agreement the last, Blackie Thorne surprised himself as much as the others by hitting a long fly that landed among the rocks of the stone fence, and was not found until he had completed a tour of the bases for the second tally. But when the leaders came up for the last time, they began a merry procession that ended only with Swim Call, leaving the final score 5-2 in favor of the councilors.
“You had us going for a while, Captain,” the Chief called to Lefty as the game ended. “If your team plays as well on Wednesday, Shawnee will have to use ten men to beat you!”
“Thanks, Chief,” responded the pitcher, with a grin. “But it won’t be a cinch by any means. They have the toughest outfit this year they’ve ever had, and I’m sure going into the box with my pockets full of four-leaf clovers!”
Although the game had not been a victory for the camper team, it had ended happily for Dirk Van Horn. Inspired by his resolve of the previous night, he had never played a better game in all his days at prep school. He had fielded like a veteran, and once he scooped in a pop fly in such quick time that he had slammed it down to Brick Ryan on first for a double play against the unprepared Mr. Lane, who was caught trying to regain first base. At the finish, when Lefty told him that his position in left field would be confirmed for the Shawnee game, he glowed with the most pleasant feeling he had enjoyed since he first put foot on the Lenape campus.
He strolled back to Tent One with Lefty, chatting eagerly of their prospects. When the pair reached the tent, they found Sax McNulty and the rest of their comrades gathered in an excited group around Brick Ryan, who was grinning broadly and trying modestly to conceal his pride.
“What’s up, men?” challenged Lefty. “Why all the celebration?”
“We just got the news that our gang will be represented on the Long Trail this year!” answered the councilor. “Congrats again, Brick! He’s going to help plant the Lenape pennant on old Mount Kinnecut. Stand up, you red-headed riot, and bow to the ladies and gentlemen!”
Brick blushed beneath his freckles. “Aw, it’s not so much to talk about.” He choked as his friend Lefty Reardon pounded him on the back heartily.
“You’re wrong there, old scout!” Lefty shouted. “I went last year, and it was the greatest thing that ever happened to me. Talk about fun! And we had some exciting adventures, too. Boy, when you’re tenting by Lake Moosehorn and catching a mess of bass for your supper, think of poor Lefty back at Lenape, wishing he was along again this season!”
Sax McNulty stared into the distance. “I scaled Kinnecut five—no, six—years ago, it was,” he said softly. “I’ll never have such a great time if I live to be a hundred and fifty! Tiny Krouse, my canoe-mate, was chased two miles by a mama-bear who thought he was trying to kidnap her cubs! And the view from the Lookout! Why——”
“Tell us about it, Sax!” begged Nig Jackson.
Dirk, who had been looking from one to another of the eager boys, now broke in. “Yes, but first tell me what all this is about! What is Brick going to do, anyway? Where is the Long Trail?”
“Tell him, Lefty,” nodded McNulty.
“Well, Van, it’s this way. The Long Trail is an old Lenape custom that was started by six fellows the first year the camp began. They went for a sixty-mile trip from here to Mount Kinnecut, up the river by canoes and over the ponds to Lake Moosehorn, then hiking through the big timber and climbing the mountain. Since then, every year, six boys under a leader make the same trip, and now there are nine Camp Lenape pennants nailed to the tallest tree on the very top of old Kinnecut, to show that the chosen campers can come through a long endurance test with flying colors. It’s not an easy trail, and so only the fellows who are best fitted for it can go. Once you’ve made the trip, you can’t go again—only Mr. Carrigan, who is in command, has been over it before. I want to tell you youngsters that it’s the one big thing at Lenape that you can never forget! Brick, I say it again, you’re a lucky bum!”
Dirk was still puzzled. “How do they pick the fellows to go?”
“Well, they have to be in first-class shape all around—healthy, full of pep and camp spirit, and they have to know their way around on the water and in the woods,” said McNulty. “And Wise-Tongue Carrigan has made a good choice this year, if you ask me. Besides Brick, he’s picked Steve Link, Wild Willie Sanders, Spaghetti Megaro, Cowboy Platt, and Ugly Brown. Ugly is younger than the rest, but he’s a fine little woodsman and can handle a canoe like an Indian. I tell you, Van Horn, if you make the most of your chances this summer, I wouldn’t be surprised to see you leading the list of Long Trailers next season!”
Dirk stared at the friendly face of the leader, and at Brick Ryan’s happy grin. It must be the most wonderful adventure in the world, the Long Trail. But next season—that was a long time to wait!
“Come in!” called the Chief, looking up from the papers on his desk. “Oh, hello, Dirk! Sit down and tell me what’s on your mind.”
Dirk Van Horn carefully closed the door of the little office, and faced the genial camp director.
“If you aren’t too busy, sir, I’d like to ask you something.”
“Never too busy to talk to campers! But it’s a fact that I haven’t seen very much of you, Dirk, since your folks brought you up here to Lenape. Of course”—the Chief smiled slightly—“I’ve heard reports of your doings, now and then. How do you like Lenape so far?”
The boy looked at the man ruefully. “I’m beginning to wonder,” he said, “if you shouldn’t ask how Lenape likes me!”
“You’ve learned a lot, if you know that, Dirk.”
“I have learned a lot. I’ve only been here a few days, Chief, but even I can see that I have been an utter chump, all along. It’s taken me a long time to get things straight, and I’m still pretty green, I guess. But from now on, I want to tell you I’m trying to be a real camper!”
The Chief leaned back in his chair, and rubbed his chin reflectively. “You seem to be in the right frame of mind to do it, Dirk. We leaders can help some, but unless a boy learns these things from other boys and by thinking about them himself, we can’t do very much. But I know,” he went on, “that you didn’t come here this morning just to tell me you want to be a true Lenape camper. What’s on your mind?”
Dirk gulped. “It’s a big thing to ask,” he blurted, “and maybe I shouldn’t say it.”
“Come, out with it!”
“Well—well—Chief, I want to go on the Long Trail!”
For some space of time after this pronouncement, the man said nothing. Dirk, searching his chief’s face for some sign, breathed a heavy sigh of disappointment, and rose to go.
“Sit down, Dirk! The Long Trail, eh? I suppose you know what you’re asking?”
Dirk, with new eagerness in his eyes, sank again into his chair. “Mr. McNulty and some of the chaps have been talking about it, and Ryan, in our tent, is going. It must be a splendid experience, sir, and I—I—— Yes, I know I’m not much as a woodsman—why, I got lost within a little way from the camp!—and I guess I’d be a drag on the rest of the fellows on a long trip like that. But, oh, sir, give me a chance!”
The Chief stared through the little window over his desk, a tiny square through which came a glimpse of the pines and the rippling waters of Lake Lenape.
“The boys that Mr. Carrigan has chosen are all picked campers,” he said at last. “Most of them have spent three seasons here, and in that time have learned the many things they must know to take care of themselves on a long trip that would test the endurance of many grown men. Moreover, these boys realize that in order to get through and plant our banner on Mount Kinnecut, they must work together as one, must share alike for the good of the tribe, as the old Indians and scouts used to do. Out of the hundred boys here each summer, only six are ever chosen to take this trail for the honor of Lenape. Now, knowing all this, do you still want to go?”
Dirk nodded dully. “But I’m bigger and stronger than Ugly Brown, and he’s going! And I’d do my best to learn everything, and try to keep up with the rest of the party——”
“Brown is one of the best young campers we have,” observed the Chief, “even if he is small. If you knew a tenth as much as he does about the woods and the water, you might stand a chance. Come, now, Dirk, I know how you feel. I’ve known your dad for years, and I can guess that if you ever wanted anything, he would get it for you. But this thing you speak of is different. You can only get it for yourself; and the harder you work to earn it, the more you’ll value it. Learn as much as you can this summer, and next year, we’ll see about letting you hit the trail for Kinnecut! How about it?”
Dirk, not trusting himself to speak, shook his head dumbly, and looked at the floor. He might have known the Chief would say no, but—but——
The director was watching him with new interest. “Well, you are persistent!” he exclaimed. “That might count for something in your favor. Now, let me ask you a question. You’ve been at Lenape for four days. What have you learned that will stand you in good stead on a stiff hike and canoe-trip through some of the wildest country in the state?”
“Nothing, I guess,” confessed Dirk humbly. “I haven’t even learned to swim, and even the littlest fellows make fun of me wading around in the shallow water. But I’ll try, Chief, I will! Only let me——”
“Your canoe is still on the dock, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Mr. Rawn said he wouldn’t let me take it out until I could swim and learn how to handle a paddle. I—I haven’t bothered to learn. I can see I’ve wasted my time fooling around with silly things, and loafing——”
“All right. That’s enough. Dirk, you have lots of stuff in you that, if you want it badly enough, can help you become a first-rate camper. You’ve shown it by getting out and chasing flies on the baseball team, and that’s a fine start. If you really believe what you’ve told me just now, your spirit in the future will be the finest thing that could come to you. You can see that your chances of holding your own on the Long Trail this year are pretty slim. But, since you’re so eager, I don’t mind telling you that there is a chance!”
Dirk’s eyes widened, and he jumped up. “You mean—— What do you want me to do, Chief?”
“I’ll make a bargain with you. Man to man. The Long Trailers will start next Monday for the river. That gives us five days. If, during those five days, you can pass all the requirements for the Lenape honor emblem, I’ll ask Mr. Carrigan to take you along!”
“Do you really mean it? Why, Chief, that’s a wonderful offer! And I’ll do it—I know I will!” Dirk cried.
The director was amused. “Don’t be too sure, Dirk. You don’t know what you are up against.” He opened the drawer of his desk and drew out a printed card. “Here is a list of the things you will have to do. It’s a long list, and four days is a short time. Remember, too, that you must not neglect your regular camp duties to work on any of the tests. One of the requirements, and the biggest, is that you must show a fine, all-around camp spirit; and that means you will have to think of the honor of your tent and the welfare of everybody and everything in camp. But if you do a good job out there in left field tomorrow at Shawnee, I’ll sign this card in this space calling for participation in an inter-camp athletic contest, and that will be one less test for you to do before Sunday night.”
Dirk took the card, and glanced at the rows of print upon it. “It’s a bargain!” he cried. “And I’ll start working on the tests this very minute!”
“Hold on! There’s one thing more I want to say before you rush out and start your job. Remember what I’ve told you—your chance of fitting yourself for the Long Trail is a very slim one indeed. Promise me that, in the event you don’t come through with your part of our bargain, you will take it like a sportsman, and even though you miss out this season, you will continue in the same spirit that you are starting now. It may be bitter medicine to take, but take it like a man!”
“I—I promise, Chief.”
Dirk fumbled for the doorknob, his heart full of gratitude and a determination that was new to him. He found himself outside the office, standing on the porch with a cool wind about his hot forehead. Through blurred eyes he scanned the printed card in his hand, reading the list of things that he must do within the coming days, if he was to join Brick Ryan and the rest on the Long Trail:
REQUIREMENTS FOR LENAPE HONOR EMBLEM
Dirk whistled as his eye ran down the list. No wonder Brick and Lefty and the others wore their green L badges with pride! And now, in the few days remaining before the canoes cut the water on the first leg of the journey to Kinnecut, he must do all these things, or stay behind. But, although he had never in all his life faced such a task as this, he did not admit even to himself that he might fail.
He buttoned the card carefully in his breast pocket. Then, with a new light in his eyes, he ran down the steep path toward the lake shore. Mr. Wally Rawn, on duty at the dock before morning swim period, was startled by the tall figure of a boy who clutched his arm, and gasped breathlessly: “Wally, sir! Do you think you could teach me to swim a hundred yards today? I want to learn to swim, and I want to learn now!”
By nightfall, Dirk had not learned all that there is to know about swimming, but Wally’s first lesson had given some confidence in handling himself in the water, as well as a hope that diligent practice should enable him to swim the required number of yards at no distant date. Moreover, the boy’s lips tilted in a satisfied smile as he glanced at the spaces on the requirement card in his hand. Three items were already initialed. Wally Rawn had found time to teach him the rudiments of managing a rowboat. Lefty Reardon, a bit doubtful of this sudden interest in campcraft by the new boy but unaware of its cause, had been persuaded to coach him upon trees and rocks, and Van Horn’s collection and identification were vouched for by the initials of Mr. Jim Avery.
“Only ten more to go!” Dirk breathed to himself. “I’ll get somebody to show me the stars tonight, and in the morning——” He caught his breath. “Why, how could I forget? Tomorrow is the day of the big game with Shawnee!”
In the morning Sax McNulty looked over at him curiously.
“What’s come over you, young lad?” the leader asked. “I didn’t know you loved to chase flies so much that you’re bubbling with boyish glee.”
“I love to chase flies, Sax.”
“But not that much. There’s something else. I never saw anybody in such a burning hurry to have an honor emblem pinned on his shirt. I’m suspicious.”
“I can’t tell you now, Sax. But will you help me?”
McNulty snorted. “Do you have to ask? Now, hop into your bathrobes, you birds—What will become of Camp Shawnee if you sleep all day?”
“Shawnee” was the word that rose oftenest in the babel at the breakfast table. All the boys were in hiking clothes, ready for the ten-mile trail that fringed the mountains running north. Within a few minutes after the meal was over, Dirk had seen disappear into the woods all his tent-mates with the exception of Lefty and Brick, who, with the rest of the Lenape nine, were to ride to Shawnee and thus keep fresh for the big contest of the afternoon.
Dirk fingered his glove nervously, and wondered what sort of ball field the Shawnee campus would provide. Somebody slapped him on the back. It was Spaghetti Megaro, second baseman, and a gay light shone in the Italian boy’s eyes.
“You’re worried, huh? Well, forget it! If we don’t win, we lose. But I think we win! Come, the truck is loaded—pile on and hang tight. If you can ride this flivver, the bucking broncho is nothing!”
“Sure, Spaghett.” Dirk joined the crowding band that jostled each other laughingly as they sought places in the body of the camp truck. Stirring up a cyclone of dust, the car left Lenape deserted, and rattled off up the rutted lane. Dirk Van Horn, clinging to the dashboard with both hands, stared into the distance.
“I think we win!” he repeated softly. “And I—I must do a good job, the Chief said. Well, in just a few hours I’ll have my chance!”
It was the end of the fourth inning, and Camp Shawnee had players on second and third with two out. The eager boys were on their toes, taking long leads and praying that Widelle, at bat, would bring them in with one of his famous sky-high clouts.
Lefty wound up and delivered a whistling curve that landed in Gil Shelton’s mitt with a satisfying smack.
“Strike two!” called Judge Kinney of Elmville, umpire for the day. The boys of Camp Lenape, grouped along the sidelines of the Shawnee diamond, raised a cheer of praise for their pitcher’s prowess.
Widelle, who wore on his jersey the red arrow-head insignia of Lenape’s rival camp, shifted his bat slightly and set himself, ready for what might prove the final toss of the inning.
“You got him measured for a homer!” Captain Hook Bollard was encouraging his team-mate with loud yells. “Take it on the nose!” He, as well as the two hundred other spectators, invader and defender alike, held his breath as Lefty uncorked a fast one. More than one person in the stands didn’t see that ball coming. But Widelle saw it; moreover, he connected.
“Zowie!” shrieked Bollard. “Go it, Widdy! A love-ly skyscraper!”
It was a perfect hit; a bit too lofty for security, but nevertheless pretty. Two hundred pairs of eyes watched the horsehide sphere climb over left field, then drop with increasing speed toward the earth. Widelle was nearing first, and already had his eye on second. The man on third was trotting confidently toward the home plate. But no one saw them. Lenape and Shawnee eyes were fastened on that descending ball; and now they were aware of a lithe figure in a tailored baseball suit, streaking backwards with head tilted to avoid the afternoon sun. Back, back the figure raced; a sudden daring leap, a slap as leather hit leather.
“He dropped it!” howled Bollard. The Lenape ranks groaned as the fielder fell sprawling; but the groan changed to unbelieving cries as they saw that one arm was still raised aloft, and a hand still clutched the fatal sphere! The fielder was on his feet again, slamming a long, easy toss to Brick Ryan at first. Brick touched the bag, and the Lenape team trooped in to take their turn at bat.
“That was Van Horn! Boy, what a catch!”
“Yay, Van! Pretty stuff, old kid!”
Dirk trotted toward the bench, and the cheers of his fellow campers grew. He tried to put on a modest, matter-of-fact look, but he could not hold back a confident grin. The Chief was there; he must have seen that catch, and the least he could do would be to sign his card for inter-camp athletics. Now, he would come to bat this inning, and then he’d show these kids some real prep-school league hitting——
He felt his arm seized roughly, and a voice, low yet angry, rasped in his ear.
“Say, Van Horn, there’s eight other guys on this team!”
Dirk wheeled. It was Lefty Reardon who spoke, and his face was ominous.
“Why, what do you mean by that?” Dirk asked.
“You know what I mean! With the score three to one against us, why do you have to go playing tiddley-winks to the grandstand? Another pass like that, and you’ll be holding down the job of water-boy for this team!”
“What was the matter with that play?” grumbled Van Horn sulkily. “They went out, didn’t they?”
“What was the matter? Everything! These kids here in the cheering section thought you were a regular daredevil, but I know better! Try that stunt again and you’ll get a rain-check instead of a bouquet. Talk about playing to the gallery! That was an easy catch—but you had to make it look like hero stuff. And taking all those chances, falling down and so on, just to look like the bozo that saved the day! Well, Terry Tompkins ain’t got a swelled head, and if you don’t button up quick, you’ll be benching for the rest of the season. And I’m saying it!”
He turned away, leaving Dirk with a flaming face. Suppose he had made that catch seem a bit harder—what was the harm? He really had stumbled, but there had been no danger of dropping the ball. What right had Reardon to call him a swell-head, just because——? But secretly, Dirk knew that Lefty had spoken justly.
With burning cheeks, he watched Soapy Mullins fan out. Brick Ryan, after tipping two fouls, was allowed to walk. Ken Haviland stalled, taking two strikes while Brick stole second, and outguessed on a fast inshoot, dropped his bat as the umpire called him out.
“Wake up, you fielder!” Lefty was calling. Dirk realized that he was next.
A little chill chased itself up his spine as he grabbed his own bat and hurried to the plate. But as he stepped up and faced Bollard’s wind-up, all his nervousness left him. He’d show these kids—and Lefty Reardon in particular—that he could save their old ball-game yet. He knew he was good. He knew he was going to hit.
“Ball one!”
He hadn’t moved. Bollard was worried, and he kept a wary eye on Brick, who was fully prepared to steal to third at an instant’s notice. The Lenape boys set up a roar.
“He’ll walk you, Van! Let him do it!” advised Captain Reardon.
Dirk’s face did not show that he had heard. He was out after a hit. He let the next one go by, and waited for a good one. It came.
Sock! He had placed it just right, a red-hot cannonball that went through shortstop like a rocket. Dirk’s cleats spurned the dusty track that led to first base.
Behind him rose the shrieks of Lenape and Shawnee. Among them he thought he heard the voice of Lefty Reardon, but he gave it not a thought. That swat was good for a two-bagger or nothing. He tapped first with his toe, and streaked for second. The shouts grew louder, but there was nobody in his path. Evidently the fielder was still tangled up in his own feet. Maybe a three-bagger——? Dirk leaped on second base, shook the sweat out of his eyes, and looked ahead.
There was a knot of players at third, and one of them must have the ball. Another was on the ground—— Why, it was Brick Ryan! Dirk had forgotten all about Brick; but there he was, with one arm stretched out, just touching the bag. Another boy, a Shawnee baseman, was crouched at his side, while above them stood a man who, as Dirk watched, shouted “Safe!” It was the field umpire.
Remorse showered on Dirk like a torrent. Brick had made it, but only because he was a top-notch player; while he, Dirk, had been to blame for the worst fool stunt in his baseball career. He could feel Lefty Reardon’s despairing eye on him, and could imagine what the captain was thinking. “Grandstand stuff again!” Van Horn, thinking only of himself and his own glory, had made a two-bagger, but had forced Ryan into a tight fix at third; it was only a matter of an instant’s decision that had saved the Lenape team from missing their big chance to score.
For half a minute, Dirk was rattled. The knot at third base broke up; the boys resumed their places, and Brick, grinning, rose and dusted his trousers while keeping an eye on Bollard, who strolled back into the box. The Shawnee team was now on the defensive; the pitcher had two men to watch, and Megaro was up—Megaro, the heaviest slugger on the Lenape side.
“I won’t quit!” Dirk swore under his breath. “It was a fool trick—but I’ve got to play it through!” He took his eyes from Reardon, at the bench, and watched the pitcher. Bollard put across two wild throws, and Megaro tipped a foul. Dirk took a wary lead, and Brick Ryan did the same.
A roar from two hundred throats sounded from the watching crowd. Crack! When the dust lifted, Megaro was safe at first; Brick Ryan was clear of home plate and Dirk Van Horn stretched over that same plate with the umpire’s cry in his ears: “Safe by a mile!” He had slid for the tying run almost on Ryan’s heels.
But there was no joy for Dirk in the rousing applause of the watchers. From the tail of his eye, he saw Lefty approaching, and knew what was coming.
“All right, Captain,” he said humbly; “you can take me out now.”
Brick Ryan put in a word. “Let him alone, Lefty! You know those things happen.”
“Never mind, Brick,” snapped Reardon. “It was only luck you got out of it, and I already warned him. He’s done. Tompkins will play left field for the rest of this game.”
“Aw, don’t you see he cleared himself? We made two runs, and that ought to make you happier, Lefty. Gollies sakes, it’s all in a ball game——”
“Thanks, Ryan, old chap—you’re white about it, but Lefty’s right,” admitted Dirk. “I forced you, just to show off. Maybe some day,” he ended miserably, “I’ll learn how to play on a team.”
Many a curious glance followed him as he pushed through the admiring bunch of Lenape boys who clustered on the sidelines; but Ollie Steffins was at bat, and the invading campers, thirsting for more rapid-action runs, did not notice him as he headed behind the tent-houses that ringed the Shawnee diamond. He passed the lodge overlooking the brown waters of Iron Lake, and started down the road by which the hikers had marched that morning into the rival encampment. There were still two innings to play, but Dirk Van Horn did not want to see the end of that game. Camp Lenape was ten miles away, and he must hike. He went on his way; and as he went, he thought....
That night there was jubilation in Camp Lenape. Hated Shawnee had been taught a lesson on the diamond, by the slender margin of one run made in the last inning by Blackie Thorne. There were comments at the supper table, however, upon the sportsmanship and hospitality of the defeated camp, who had taken their defeat in good nature, and in parting had promised vengeance at the next inter-camp tilt. Tired hikers ate like wolves, assuring each other between mouthfuls that it had been a swell day.
Dishes had to be washed. At Tent One table, Lefty and Eddie Scolter were due for this detail. The latter, however, could hardly keep his eyes open—the long hike, the swim in Iron Lake, and the excitements of the day’s visit at Shawnee had been almost too much for the small lad. He nodded gratefully when Dirk Van Horn offered to take his place. Sax McNulty raised his eyebrows at this generosity, but made no remark.
Lefty busied himself with a broom and piled the dishes while Dirk mixed up suds in the pan. It was Lefty who spoke first.
“I got a bit heated up this afternoon,” he confessed casually. “Hope you didn’t take me too seriously, Van. Sometimes, when a guy is captain of a team, he has to say things and do things he doesn’t like.”
Dirk nodded.
“I’m sorry if you’re sore about it,” the aide went on. “Brick Ryan was taking your part, on the way home, and darned if he didn’t convince me that I was wrong in bawling you out the way I did.”
“I am sore,” admitted Dirk; “but at myself, not at you. You were quite right to kick me out. It’s—it’s not easy to say it, but I’m pretty much of a swell-head any way you put it. Will you do me a favor, Reardon?”
“Sure.”
“Well, next time you see me getting ready to do any more stunts like that, will you oblige me by a swift kick in the seat of my pants?”
Lefty laughed. “I will! Now, I want to ask you something. You want to go on the Long Trail, don’t you?”
The blond boy stared and almost dropped a dish on the floor. “How did you know?”
“Oh, I can see! But the Long Trail is a pretty stiff proposition. What makes you think you can tackle it?”
“It’s just a crazy hope. But the Chief said there was a slim chance, and I want to go more than I ever wanted to do anything.”
“You’re right—it’s worth working for, I’ll say! So now you’ve given up bunk-stretching and are going full speed ahead on your emblem and winning ball-games and thinking of the other fellow first—— Well, I’m here to say I’ll help you all I can, and any other older camper will do the same! Now, what things do you still have to do to get your emblem?”
Dirk pushed back his unruly hair, pulled a sheet of paper from the roller of his portable typewriter, and read what he had just written.
“Camp Lenape, Thursday.“Dear Dad:“I am writing this to you especially because I want to thank you for sending me up here to Camp Lenape. I must admit that at first I didn’t seem to get over so well with the fellows, but that was all my own fault, and now that everything is going fine, I can see why you wanted me to spend my summer with such a swell bunch of campers and leaders. My, the Chief must have been a great man to be friends with when you were in college together! He has certainly been nice to me.“It would take a whole book to tell you all the things that have happened to me since you and Mama left. We played baseball with a camp named Shawnee, and beat them. I was fielding for a while, but got kicked out of the game in the middle because of a fool stunt, so I didn’t help the team any. You met the captain—Lefty Reardon, a splendid pitcher that I wish we had on our prep-school squad. He’s just one of the chaps in my tent—all of them are awfully lively and full of fun. I had a fight with a kid named Brick Ryan, but now we’re good friends. He’s a red-headed kid in our tent. Mr. McNulty, our leader, looks gloomy all the time but that is just his way, and the things he says would make you die laughing. He plays the sax, so they all call him Sax. He’s our councilor.“I’ll bet you would be surprised if you knew all the things I learned about stars and flowers and boats and things. One of the kids tried to fool me and say that one tree was a castor oil tree that the castor oil came from, but I guess I’m not so green as to believe that, though. I’m learning to swim some, and Brick Ryan is showing me about diving into the water head first. He’s got what they call a Lenape honor emblem, which you can get for your jersey if you know a lot of camp things.“We have to work hard here to keep the tent clean and get merit points to win a pennant every day to show which is the best tent. The first day I didn’t clean up enough and we got the ‘booby can’ that we had to hang up with ‘booby’ written on it. Each of us has to be waiter and wash dishes, but that’s fun too, like seeing if you can get ‘seconds’ on meat and potatoes when you’re the waiter. Tell Mama not to bother sending up all that candy and cake and stuff I asked for, because Wally Rawn, the swimming coach, says it’s bad to eat a lot of junk between meals all the time. I have to be in training now, because I want to learn to swim good.“Now for the big news. The Chief told me that if I got my honor emblem all done and know everything by Sunday night, he will ask Mr. Carrigan to take me on the Long Trail. The Long Trail is a swell trip up the river and a hike through the woods and up a mountain, and I want to go if I can, so if the Chief will let me, say you won’t mind! I guess it’s quite exciting, because everybody wants to go, but only six can go every year, and if I go that will be seven. One of the fellows that is going is Brick Ryan. Reardon went last year, and he says you can catch bass fish and you take along a flag and nail it to a tree on top of the mountain. ‘Sax’ went once and a bear chased his canoe-mate, but don’t tell Mama that part or she will worry. But Mr. Carrigan is quite a woodsman and knows all about nature and things, although to look at him you wouldn’t think so, because he looks sort of funny and has a big nose. He knows all about bears. I can take along the canoe you gave me, theSachem. The other fellows are Steve Link and a fellow we call ‘Spaghetti’ because his name is Megaro and he’s Italian, and Wild Willie Sanders and Ugly Brown and a fellow named Cowboy Platt who comes from Arizona where the cowboys come from. Ugly Brown is smaller than I am, but he knows a lot about the woods. Before we go we have to pass a physical examination but I never felt better in my life because I’m in training.“Today I am being the tent aide. That is a rather important job, as you see it means you have to be a sort of assistant to the leader and keep all the fellows on their toes doing the right things, and yet do it without being bossy or mean. Lefty is the regular aide, but he let me do it to try for one part of my honor emblem. I still have lots of tests to pass for it yet. ‘Gollies,’ as my friend Brick Ryan would say, I sure hope that I don’t miss out and can’t finish it all by Sunday, for then I wouldn’t dare ask the Chief to let me go on the Long Trail.“Well, I must get busy now and do some more things, but don’t forget that I’m to go to Mt. Kinnecut with the long trailers, and that if the Chief gives his permission, you will too. You can explain things to Mama, but don’t mention the bears.“Your affectionate son,“Dirk van Horn.”
“Camp Lenape, Thursday.
“Dear Dad:
“I am writing this to you especially because I want to thank you for sending me up here to Camp Lenape. I must admit that at first I didn’t seem to get over so well with the fellows, but that was all my own fault, and now that everything is going fine, I can see why you wanted me to spend my summer with such a swell bunch of campers and leaders. My, the Chief must have been a great man to be friends with when you were in college together! He has certainly been nice to me.
“It would take a whole book to tell you all the things that have happened to me since you and Mama left. We played baseball with a camp named Shawnee, and beat them. I was fielding for a while, but got kicked out of the game in the middle because of a fool stunt, so I didn’t help the team any. You met the captain—Lefty Reardon, a splendid pitcher that I wish we had on our prep-school squad. He’s just one of the chaps in my tent—all of them are awfully lively and full of fun. I had a fight with a kid named Brick Ryan, but now we’re good friends. He’s a red-headed kid in our tent. Mr. McNulty, our leader, looks gloomy all the time but that is just his way, and the things he says would make you die laughing. He plays the sax, so they all call him Sax. He’s our councilor.
“I’ll bet you would be surprised if you knew all the things I learned about stars and flowers and boats and things. One of the kids tried to fool me and say that one tree was a castor oil tree that the castor oil came from, but I guess I’m not so green as to believe that, though. I’m learning to swim some, and Brick Ryan is showing me about diving into the water head first. He’s got what they call a Lenape honor emblem, which you can get for your jersey if you know a lot of camp things.
“We have to work hard here to keep the tent clean and get merit points to win a pennant every day to show which is the best tent. The first day I didn’t clean up enough and we got the ‘booby can’ that we had to hang up with ‘booby’ written on it. Each of us has to be waiter and wash dishes, but that’s fun too, like seeing if you can get ‘seconds’ on meat and potatoes when you’re the waiter. Tell Mama not to bother sending up all that candy and cake and stuff I asked for, because Wally Rawn, the swimming coach, says it’s bad to eat a lot of junk between meals all the time. I have to be in training now, because I want to learn to swim good.
“Now for the big news. The Chief told me that if I got my honor emblem all done and know everything by Sunday night, he will ask Mr. Carrigan to take me on the Long Trail. The Long Trail is a swell trip up the river and a hike through the woods and up a mountain, and I want to go if I can, so if the Chief will let me, say you won’t mind! I guess it’s quite exciting, because everybody wants to go, but only six can go every year, and if I go that will be seven. One of the fellows that is going is Brick Ryan. Reardon went last year, and he says you can catch bass fish and you take along a flag and nail it to a tree on top of the mountain. ‘Sax’ went once and a bear chased his canoe-mate, but don’t tell Mama that part or she will worry. But Mr. Carrigan is quite a woodsman and knows all about nature and things, although to look at him you wouldn’t think so, because he looks sort of funny and has a big nose. He knows all about bears. I can take along the canoe you gave me, theSachem. The other fellows are Steve Link and a fellow we call ‘Spaghetti’ because his name is Megaro and he’s Italian, and Wild Willie Sanders and Ugly Brown and a fellow named Cowboy Platt who comes from Arizona where the cowboys come from. Ugly Brown is smaller than I am, but he knows a lot about the woods. Before we go we have to pass a physical examination but I never felt better in my life because I’m in training.
“Today I am being the tent aide. That is a rather important job, as you see it means you have to be a sort of assistant to the leader and keep all the fellows on their toes doing the right things, and yet do it without being bossy or mean. Lefty is the regular aide, but he let me do it to try for one part of my honor emblem. I still have lots of tests to pass for it yet. ‘Gollies,’ as my friend Brick Ryan would say, I sure hope that I don’t miss out and can’t finish it all by Sunday, for then I wouldn’t dare ask the Chief to let me go on the Long Trail.
“Well, I must get busy now and do some more things, but don’t forget that I’m to go to Mt. Kinnecut with the long trailers, and that if the Chief gives his permission, you will too. You can explain things to Mama, but don’t mention the bears.
“Your affectionate son,“Dirk van Horn.”
The writer surveyed this composition thoughtfully, scratched his ear, and replacing the page in the machine, added a brief paragraph.
“P.S. Tell Mama not to worry about getting my feet wet. I haven’t taken any of those pills for several days, but I thought it over and I think that anybody that feels as good as I do doesn’t need any pills. I’m getting nice and tan like a sailor.”
“P.S. Tell Mama not to worry about getting my feet wet. I haven’t taken any of those pills for several days, but I thought it over and I think that anybody that feels as good as I do doesn’t need any pills. I’m getting nice and tan like a sailor.”
Slipping his letter into an envelope addressed to “Mr. John T. Van Horn, President, Commerce National Bank,” Dirk stuck on a stamp and his missive was ready for the mail. He had just stepped outside the tent when he caught sight of Brick Ryan, lugging a sack on his shoulders and making his way down the hillside at a fast pace.
“Hi, Brick!” Dirk hailed him. “Say, wait for a chap! Is that the mail-bag you have?”
Brick halted and nodded. “Long Jim gave me the chance to take it down to Heaven for him today. He’s busy at the store.”
“Well, here’s a letter I want to go in, special.” He caught up to his red-headed tent-mate and slipped his letter into the top of the canvas sack. Brick grunted.
“Everybody must be writing to their mamas and sweethearts today, all right. Gollies, what a hefty load! Say, Van, do you want to go along and help row the boat? Give you some practice.”
“Could I?” Dirk became reflective. “I’m supposed to be acting as aide today, but maybe I can go. I sure would like to help. I tell you—you go on down, and if I can get away, I’ll be down to the dock in a jiffy.”
They parted, and Dirk raced to the lodge, where he found his councilor practicing with the camp orchestra in preparation for a vaudeville show that was on the program for the following night. Securing his ready permission to assist the mail-carrier of the day, Dirk cut through the trees below the tents and reached the dock almost as soon as the burdened Brick arrived.
Selecting a steel-bottomed rowboat from among those moored in the lee of the diving tower, the two boys pushed off on the waters of Lake Lenape. Dirk, amidships, took the unwieldy oars and with unskilled motions began sculling in the direction of the north end of the lake, where a landing jutted from the weedy shore, beyond which faintly showed the roof of Heaven House, the little cottage that was used for the accommodation of parents and guests who visited the mountain camp.
They had gone only a few hundred yards when Brick, lounging easily on the stern-sheets with the mail sack between his knees, made an offer.
“Say, my lad, how would you like to see some baby kingfishers?”
“Fine!” answered Van Horn. “Where are they?”
“Well, cut over a few points toward the shore, and we’ll just stop in up the creek a ways. They have their nest in a hollow stump. We’ve got plenty of time to take a look, if we hurry.”
Dirk pulled on his oars with renewed vigor, and the boat headed toward the reed-masked inlet of the marshy creek that cut into the camp side of the lake. He was already getting the knack of handling the little craft with greater ease, so that they slipped softly under an overhanging maple branch and entered the weed-bordered reach of water without a splash.
“That’s right!” whispered Brick. “Keep quiet, or you’ll scare ’em. Say! Who’s that guy?” He pointed.
Dirk clumsily shipped his oars, and at the sound a man on a little hillock above them wheeled sharply and stared, at the same time whipping one hand behind his back. The keel of the boat grated on the shore, barely missing a slender bamboo fishing rod that lay there neglected.
The man ran toward them.
“Sorry, sir!” cried Dirk cheerily. “We seem to have spoiled your fishing for you.”
The stranger did not return his smile. He stared for a second, then queerly enough, exclaimed: “Why, if it ain’t young Van Horn!”
For a space there was silence, except for the resounding thuds of axes on wood and the far shouts of boys toward the head of the creek where, Dirk recalled, a woodcraft squad was building a bridge of birch-trunks. He surveyed the unknown fisherman. The man was short and slender; and his dress was poorly adapted to the waterside, for he wore a suit of creased and dusty serge, and thin-soled, pointed low shoes. A cloth cap was pulled down over his pale face, almost hiding a pair of the steeliest blue eyes Dirk had ever seen, that stared at him coldly all the while as the man stood, hands behind back, biting his lip as if he would have cut short his surprising cry of recognition.
Brick Ryan had all this time spoken no word. Finally Dirk broke the uncomfortable silence.
“How did you know my name?”
The man hesitated. “Why—I guess everybody knows by sight a famous kid like you. I thought I was right. Your old man’s the banker, ain’t he? Say,” he went on more easily, “how would you and your smart-lookin’ partner there like to take a little joy-ride around the country with me for half an hour or so? I got a little car over by the road, and you can drive a ways if you want to.”
Such an offer a few days previously might well have tempted Dirk’s adventurous instincts; but he remembered that he and Brick were charged with a mission to perform.
“That’s nice of you, especially since we upset your fishing here,” he returned; “but Brick and I have to take care of the mail. Besides, we don’t leave the camp without permission.”
“Yeah, let’s beat it,” put in Brick, shoving the oars into the rowlocks.
Dirk nodded, and began backing water. The man made a quick step toward them, and his right arm jerked impulsively; but he made no effort to detain them. He stood gazing at them with his cold blue eyes until they vanished again beyond the leafy screen that hid the entrance to the creek.
Once more heading across the lake toward Heaven House, all thoughts of kingfishers’ nests forgotten, Brick spoke reflectively.
“There’s something funny about that bird,” he began. “Ever seen him before, Van?”
“Why, not that I remember. Funny he knew my name. I guess we spoiled his fishing—too bad.”
Brick snorted. “Haven’t you got eyes? He’s no fisherman—not in that outfit. His rod didn’t even have bait on the line, and besides, any sap would know that there’s no fish in that part of the creek.”
“Well, then, what was he doing?”